Lost Boy
by RosalindHawkins
Summary: Sequel to "Pretty Boy." / Seitarou can feel his mask slipping. Soon he'll fall apart, and all he can hope for is someone to help him pick up the pieces afterward. (Slow burn Seijime, angst, rape, nightmares, depression, anxiety, trigger warning)
1. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Seitarou had always loved the stars.

As a child, he'd often wondered how far away they were, and if he could ever visit them. If he stretched his arms up high enough, could he pluck them from the sky? Were they truly diamonds pinned to the heavens? Were they the sparkling presence of spirits, the dust of faeries, the tears of God? If he had wings, could he rearrange the constellations to tell new stories?

Seitarou craned his neck further back as he stared up at the glorious night sky, the splendor of the Milky Way Galaxy sprawled before him. He rubbed his sore neck and finally dropped his gaze down to the ocean and its sparkling reflection of the sky. The lights swirled and blended on the tips of the waves, and Seitarou's gaze fell further down, to where those sparkling waves crashed against the sharp rocks lining the island's shore.

 _Falling feels a lot like flying, doesn't it?_

Seitarou had always wanted to fly.

It was Hajime's turn to watch the security cameras tonight, and he was starting to truly resent the task. The LCD displays burned his eyes, his retinas on fire as he tried to simultaneously catch up on paperwork.

Seitarou's replacement was doing his best, but he seemed overwhelmed by the strangeness of building thirteen. The inmates of cell thirteen heckled him to no end, breaking out of their cell during the day more frequently than before, though their night attempts had remained consistently infrequent.

Even so, Hajime wasn't taking any chances.

But damn it, he didn't become a prison guard so he could do paperwork! It was part of the job, though, and if it aided the administration of justice, then he would do it.

He flicked his eyes up to the monitors in time to see something—some _one—_ flitting across one of the screens.

Number Fifteen.

Damn it, out of his cell again, but at least that gave him a reason to leave this room and move around.

"Yamato, Number Fifteen has escaped from his cell!" Hajime said into his walkie talkie. "I need you to return to the main office and watch the security cameras while—No, I'll handle it myself, Deputy Supervisor!"

Hajime stood, restless and eager to get out from behind a desk.

Finally, he'd get to see some action tonight.

"Don't jump!"

Seitarou barely had a moment to stiffen at the sound before he was being jerked backwards and tackled to the ground.

"Get off of me!" Seitarou could feel his chest constricting with fear as he began to writhe and struggle against the weight of the body on his back. He swallowed back the rising sense of panic, or at least he tried to.

"No!"

Seitarou now recognized the voice as belonging to Jyugo, Number Fifteen. That should have eased his fear, but it didn't.

"Get off!" Seitarou jerked one arm back to jab one sharp elbow into Jyugo's side. The inmate's grunt confirmed that he hit his target, so he rolled over until he was the one pinning Jyugo to the ground, applying his weight to the other's chest as he tried to regain control of his own panicked breathing. Jyugo's eyes were fixed on him, though, in a way that unnerved the already anxious prison guard.

"What were you doing?" Number Fifteen asked in a low voice as Seitarou pressed a hand to his own chest, still trying to catch his breath.

"Hajime or Yamato should be here any minute to take you back to your cell."

"You were going to jump, weren't you?"

Perhap it was the apathetic tone that irked him, but Seitarou glared at Jyugo with a sudden burst of anger. "I don't know why you keep repeating that, but stop. It's not your business either way."

"You had your foot on the bottom of the railing, though." He sounded so calm, so neutral, it only made Seitarou angrier.

"Shut up!"

 _Damn it, why can't I breathe right?_

 _Come on, I can do this._

 _Deep breaths, Seitarou... One at a time... In... Out... In... Out..._

Jyugo's silence gave Seitarou the moments of peace he'd needed to regain some kind of control.

"If I let you up, will you let me return you to your cell quietly?"

"Nope." His mismatched eyes glittered with mischief. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Me getting to go back home," Seitarous sighed.

"You should have thought about that before you came back." Jyugo's short smile disappeared. "Seriously, though, where have you been? Nico's really missed you, but Hajime won't tell us anything."

Needing a reason to avoid answering, Seitarou shifted his hold on Jyugo and flipped him onto his stomach, holding his arms folded against his back the way he was taught to do in his initial training. He now had him solidly pinned, which gave him time to think, even as Jyugo craned his neck so he could look over his shoulder at the blue-haired guard.

 _So he didn't tell them why I'm gone... I'm kind of relieved, but at the same time, I don't want to explain it to them when I return either._

 _I'm going to need to tell them_ something _, sooner or later._

 _I can't just ignore them, especially not Nico..._

"I'll be back in a couple weeks," was all he said. Judging by the way Jyugo was looking at him, he may have taken too long to answer.

 _Crap. I need to stop doing that._

Jyugo looked thoughtful, like he was about to say more, but that was when Hajime interrupted them.

"Lieutenant, what are you doing here? Number Fifteen, what are you doing out of your cell?" Hajime seemed angry with both of them.

"I went for a midnight stroll," was the inmate's blase answer. "You know it's impossible to sleep with those three in the room, and I got bored."

"Tough." Hajime had approached the pair of them and held out a hand to Seitarou, who accepted it and let his supervisor pull him to his feet. "I'll take it from here—Stay down, Fifteen!"

Jyugo had tried to stand as the guards were occupied, but Hajime stepped on his back to keep him pinned.

"Wait for me in my office, lieutenant." Hajime's fierce eyes sent a shiver through the young man, who nodded and looked away in shame.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on leave." Hajime looked imposing as he stood behind his desk, Seitarou feeling like a school-kid at the principle's office.

"I came for the view." Seitarou held Hajime's gaze, trying not to let the tremor in his hands show. He wasn't lying, he'd done nothing wrong, he had no reason to be afraid. "That's why I was on the roof."

 _The less I say, the less I give away._

"You're on _leave_ , lieutenant, which means that you're _not supposed to be_ _here_." Hajime crossed his arms, then asked coolly, "When do you plan to return?"

"In ten days." Seitarou sighed a little with relief that Hajime seemed to have calmed down, even if he was looking at him strangely. Perhaps it was simply that Hajime wasn't used to seeing him in casual clothes: bare-headed, sneakers, skinny jeans, a pale yellow long-sleeve t-shirt. The silence in the office was stifling, so he gave a quick bow as he apologized, "I'm sorry, Supervisor. I'll see you when I return." He turned and stepped towards the door, making it halfway there before he was stopped.

"Lieutenant."

 _Oh crap._

Seitarou froze, took a small breath, then turned around.

 _Please make this quick_ , he prayed.

Being here like this—after getting caught on the roof by an inmate—was making him too anxious, the fear building in his chest where it tried to choke his lungs.

"Is there something I should know? Anything you need to tell me?"

Seitarou's throat closed over, and he swallowed hard to counter the feeling.

"No, sir."

 _He doesn't look convinced. Did Number Fifteen say something to him?_

Now Seitarou was wondering how long Jyugo had been standing behind him, watching him.

 _He wasn't wrong, but does Hajime believe him?_

 _What's he going to tell his cellmates?_

 _Will Nico believe him?_

 _Will Nico hate me for it?_

 _I worked so hard to earn his trust, it'd be terrible if I lost it now, over something like this._

 _I was making so much progress with him, too._

 _I can't lose that now._

 _I can't breathe right._

 _I can't—_

"Alright." Hajime gave a slight nod. "Then I'll see you in two weeks."

Seitarou nodded and turned tail, leaving as quickly as he could.

 _Breathe, Seitarou..._

 _In, two, three._

 _Out, two, three._

 _In, two, three._

 _Out, two, three._

He timed his breathing with his brisk steps as he followed a familiar route out of building thirteen.

Seitarou was used to handling anxiety attacks. He'd been diagnosed with general anxiety disorder back in high school, so he'd had a brief stint with counseling when he was seventeen. His counselor had taught him coping mechanisms to help with the attacks and helped him to change his thinking patterns to avoid the attacks and the anxiety altogether. He'd managed it well since then—if you ignored the series of nervous breakdowns accompanying his fourth semester of college—and hadn't had to fend off an anxiety attack for a couple years now.

Not until February...

Not until—No!

 _Stop thinking about it_ , he rebuked himself as he swiped his ID card to let himself out of the building. _Stop thinking about it; that only makes things worse, and you're doing badly enough already_.

The paralyzing panic that choked him after a nightmare was not something he was used to, and he couldn't seem to manage them the way he managed the anxiety attacks. It made Seitarou scared to fall asleep.

His heart was still pounding harder and louder than it should be, so he pressed a hand to his chest once more as he walked to the platform for the light rail that would take him closer to home.

Because the small apartment he inhabited among the guards' residences was the only home he had, his worldly possessions so few that he could pack everything he owned into a couple boxes and move out within an hour.

Nobody else was around, much to his relief, so he could make the short trip in peaceful solitude.


	2. Ugly Truth

"There's something wrong with him."

"Oh yeah?" Hajime sounded distinctly unconvinced as he walked Number Fifteen back to his cell. "What makes you say that?"

"He was gonna jump."

Hajime looked up at Jyugo abruptly with an expression of disbelief.

"You heard me." Jyugo looked more serious and intent than before. "You have security cameras up there, right? Just go watch the tapes and you'll see for yourself."

Hajime growled, but didn't respond. They did have a _few_ cameras on the roof, but they didn't have full coverage, so it was anyone's guess how much of the incident was actually caught on camera.

"You'll look into it, right?" Jyugo queried.

"Look, kid." Hajime's voice took on a familiar, superior tone. "I think I know my colleague better than you, so—"

"Listen to me!" Jyugo glared at Hajime with fire in his eyes. "If prison's taught me one thing, it's that you never know what kind of shit someone's dealing with unless they actually tell you. Don't assume anything, cause you'll probably be wrong. The last place I was at, there was this one guy always cracking jokes, then one night out of the blue, he hung himself. Nobody saw it coming."

Hajime felt ever-so-slightly humbled, but all he said was, "Keep walking, Fifteen."

* * *

"Is there something I should know? Anything you need to tell me?"

Hajime watched as Seitarou's fists clenched at his sides, his eyes widened, his gaze temporarily unfocused.

The deafening silence stretched out longer than it should have.

"No, sir."

The slight tremor in his voice betrayed him, but Hajime didn't call him out on it. Seitarou looked determined, and if he weren't strong, then he wouldn't have been hired as a guard at Nanba Prison. So, Hajime decided to let him be.

"Alright." Hajime gave a slight nod. "Then I'll see you in two weeks."

Seitarou left so quickly, he might as well have disappeared into thin air. Hajime sighed and sat down behind his desk, pulling up the most recently archived footage from the security cameras on the roof.

They didn't give an excellent view of the encounter, only letting Hajime watch each man in turn approach the railing, then the two of them hitting the ground together. It was the way that they fell which intrigued him and prompted Hajime to replay the encounter more slowly.

Jyugo was holding onto Seitarou as they fell, dragging the guard with him as he fell onto his back. Seitarou apprehended him properly, but it took him too long. It seemed like they'd paused to converse, but he couldn't make their faces very clearly.

 _Damn these old cameras._

He added "updated roof camera system" to next month's budget plan before returning to his onerous paperwork.

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Hajime muttered to himself as he walked down an unfamiliar lane in the residential quarter of the island, a box in his hand containing a hand-made gift from the ever-bubbly Nico. It was surprising, actually: Hajime had supposed that Nico would only ever be a mooch, someone who took what he was given without ever giving anything back. But here was evidence to the contrary in the form of a gift for an unwell friend. After much begging and crocodile tears, Nico had finally persuaded Hajime into hand-delivering the present to Seitarou _today_ , rather than waiting for the lieutenant to receive the gift when he returned to his duties.

Hajime didn't live close to Seitarou, but he didn't live that far away from him either. In truth, he was passing by Seitarou's residence on his way home anyways, so it wasn't all that inconvenient for him. Since it was the middle of the night, he'd just leave the box outside the door and let Seitarou find it in the morning.

That was the plan, at least.

A sudden scream, muted by distance and drywall, pierced the night when Hajime was only a few meters from his lieutenant's door. The prison supervisor rushed forward, his instincts kicking in as he pounded on the door with his fist.

"Seitarou, what's going on in there?" he shouted through the door, but when he was met with no response but more unintelligible shouts, he decided to force his way in instead. He took a step back, then kicked the door in, effectively breaking the lock.

His apartment was dark, so Hajime shouted his name again as he stormed in, the screams setting him on edge.

 _What the hell is going on?_

These apartments all had the same layout, so he moved straight towards the door that obviously enclosed the bedroom.

"Seitarou!" Hajime shouted the name again moments before the guard collided with him, shouting as he struggled against the unexpected obstacle.

"Calm down!" Hajime instructed as he took hold of the guard's wrists to stop his flailing, though now he was trying to wriggle free. "Seitarou, get a grip on yourself!"

Hajime noticed that the other's eyes were closed.

 _How the fuck is he doing this in his sleep?!_

"Wake up, Seitarou!" Hajime shouted.

Damp magenta eyes opened with a gasp, followed by a shudder. Seitarou stopped struggling, dropping his gaze, suddenly going limp in Hajime's hold. As the gasping young man was lowered to the floor, Hajime knelt down beside him with a sense of foreboding. He released his arms and watched as he folded in on himself, hiding his face in his hands as he began to cry between hiccuping breaths.

This was not Hajime's first time seeing his lieutenant cry. He could handle tears; it was everything _else_ that was perplexing him.

"What's wrong, Seitarou? What _was_ that?" Hajime asked, skipping the stupid question of _Are you alright?_ when he clearly wasn't.

"I-I-I don't… know…" Seitarou was too upset to speak clearly. He curled in on himself even further, shoulders hunching.

"What do you need?" Hajime asked, figuring the most efficient way to learn what was wrong would be to get him to calm down first.

"I… don't know…" Seitarou repeated helplessly, his breathing coming in short, shallow gasps.

Hajime watched the uneven breathing of his sleep-rumpled guard, clad in an old blue t-shirt and thin grey sweatpants. If he didn't know what was wrong, then Hajime would take him to someone who did.

"Come on, then." His gruff voice, normally rough, was unusually gentle. Or at least, Hajime's version of gentleness. "Let's get you to the doctor."

He took Seitarou's hands in his as he stood up, and was instantly shocked.

 _Good god, he's shaking. I've never felt anyone tremble this violently before._

When Hajime's attempts to help Seitarou stand up failed, he chose to carry him instead, and through it all Seitarou didn't say another word, just let himself sink into the strength of his supervisor's arms while fidgeting with his hair.

* * *

"I'm afraid you've taken him to the wrong kind of doctor," the old man said around his pipe as he approached a seated—and sleepy—Hajime.

"What do you mean?" Hajime was in a terrible mood as it was; he didn't need any bad news right now. Dr. Otogi sighed and removed his pipe from his mouth.

"To put it simply: while his symptoms are _physiological_ , their cause is _psychological_ , so there's little I can do to help him. I already paged the shrink, and he's on his way over."

Hajime glared at him with a blank expression. Otogi sighed and took the pipe between his teeth again.

"In other words, you should just go home. We'll be keeping him overnight, so you can rest assured that he's being taken care of."

Hajime did leave, but not before he jotted down a brief account of what had happened, at the doctor's request.

"Is he going to be okay?" Hajime asked just as he was on his way out.

With a shrug, Dr. Otogi answered calmly, "Don't know. Not my specialty."

* * *

Early the next morning, Seitarou and the shrink were in the infirmary, locked in a struggle as he attempted to help his newest patient.

"If you want me to be able to help you, then I need you to start talking to me."

Seitarou ran a hand over his long ponytail as he stared down into his lap, avoiding the psychologist's gaze. When his reluctance to speak became apparent to the shrink, Seitarou had been given a clipboard with a list of symptoms and some questions and was told to fill it out to the best of his ability. That done, the shrink had read through his answers, taking notes on a pad of paper while Seitarou had dragged his fingers through his hair. It was his only lifeline here.

"How about we try this, then."

Seitarou glanced up as he was handed a blank pad of paper and a pen.

"You write down your answers for me, okay? No one else will see them but me. I promise."

Seitarou accepted them hesitantly, slouching back into the pillows behind him as he pulled up his knees and rested the pad against them. He uncapped the pen and held it poised in his right hand, then glanced to the shrink to indicate that he was ready.

"First, just to clear things up, let me ask you this." He adjusted his glasses. "While your medical records indicate that you were diagnosed with and treated for anxiety in high school, they didn't mention anything about depression—which you _are_ experiencing now. Did you have depressive symptoms back then in any capacity and just choose not to report them, or were you truly only dealing with general anxiety?"

 _Just anxiety_ , Seitarou wrote in neat script, then held it up for him to see.

"Alright, then. I just needed to be sure. Now, how long have these things that you marked on here," he tapped the completed form on the side table, "Been bothering you? When did they start, or, if you're unsure about that, when did you become aware of them? Did they grow over time in a slow progression, or was it sudden? Did they all start at the same time? If not, which came first?" The psychologist asked his questions slowly, elaborating on their meaning in order to put Seitarou at ease and not confuse or fluster him.

Seitarou bit his lip as he hesitated. This was the start of the revealing, the first step towards the truth getting out. He took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. He knew that he needed help. He was miserable, and if he ever wanted to feel better, he'd need to tell _someone_ about what he was experiencing. These kinds of things—anxiety attacks, night terrors, depression, and everything else—wouldn't go away on their own.

 _They all started within a week of each other, in the last week or two of February_.

He showed the shrink his answer, and he hummed in response.

"Has anyone been threatening you? Any of the inmates, any of the guards?"

He shook his head.

"Have there been any disruptions in your family recently, immediate or extended?"

He shook his head again.

"Did anything happen at the end of February that you think could have caused this?"

Seitarou waited for elaboration, but was met with none. His hand shook a little as he shifted his grip on the pen, then offered the psychologist a slight nod.

"Tell me what happened."

Seitarou peeked at the middle-aged man through his hair, glancing away quickly.

 _"You're so tight..."_

 _No!_

 _"I've always loved that hair of yours..."_

 _Stop touching it!_

 _"Open wide, pretty boy."_

 _I don't want this!_

"You don't have to tell me everything right now. Don't think about the details, just write it down in the simplest way possible. Just give me a small piece of the truth."

 _Can I do this?_

 _I don't think I can do this..._

 _Do I want to do this?_

 _I... think I do._

His secret had been eating away at him like poison for over a month now. It was making him sick to his stomach just thinking about it.

Maybe he'd stop feeling so sick if he let it out, chose to share the burden with someone...

Seitarou started to write, his pen moving slowly as it scratched out the horrible truth in small letters. He stared at them when he was done, eyes watering as he mentally braced himself for the avalanche of consequences that would ultimately result from his sharing these three little words with this one man.

"Please show me what you wrote."

Seitarou passed the man the pad of paper and the pen, then reached for his hair again, pulling it over his shoulder and combing through it with both hands as he held his breath and waited for a reaction.

"I was starting to suspect as much," the psychologist said quietly, his tone kind and concerned. "It explains the sudden simultaneous development of PTSD, panic disorder, and depression in the absence of any obvious catastrophe."

 _PTSD? Panic disorder? I really am a disaster, aren't I?_

"Thank you for telling me, and I know you know this already, but I'd like to reiterate that this stays between you and me. I'm bound by duty not to share anything you tell me with anyone unless you specifically tell me I can. Okay?"

Seitarou nodded.

"That said, I should let you know that your supervisor requested that he be frequently updated on your condition. How much I tell him, if I tell him anything at all, is entirely up to you."

 _Do I_ want _Hajime to know?_

 _I don't know..._

 _I want_ someone _to know._

 _I don't want to be alone with this anymore._

 _I want someone to tell me that I'm going to be okay, and I want them to believe it._

 _I don't want to be alone with my panic attacks, b_ _ut I don't want to be a burden._

 _Hajime's stressed enough as it is, he already has enough on his plate._

 _I'd just be a bother to him._

 _Maybe I should quit my job._

 _But where would I go? What would I do?_

 _I have no life skills._

 _I don't have a college degree._

 _I can't do much of anything, can I?_

 _I'm so useless... I wish I could be useful to someone, anyone._

Seitarou didn't even realize he was having an anxiety attack until he heard the psychologist reminding him how to breathe.

"You don't have to decide right now. You have time. Why don't you try to get some sleep for now."

Seitarou nodded and rolled over in the narrow bed, hiding his head under the blanket as he tried to block out the world. He heard the psychologist start to move away, then peeked out at him from under the blanket. Just as he was about to leave, Seitarou finally spoke.

"Hey."

The shrink paused and turned around. "Yes?"

"You can tell Hajime... about the things I have, just... don't tell him... what happened to me."


	3. Talk To Me

"Is he even fit to work?" Hajime asked with a doubtful air, glancing at the sleeping guard once more.

"He is, he'd just need to work fewer hours than he's used to."

"Damn, that's annoying." Hajime frowned in irritation. "His replacement's practically useless, and the inmates can tell. They're becoming more restless than usual, and it's getting harder to keep them under control. I really need Seitarou back." Seitarou had a rapport with the inmates, who seemed mildly attached to him even if they didn't appear to respect him. At least, until now. Some of the inmates had given Seitarou a hard time for this or that, but as far as actual rules went, they didn't violate many of them when he was around. In contrast, they had absolutely no respect for the guard who'd been assigned to temporarily take his place, and Hajime was starting to see what that total lack of respect looked like in their behavior.

"His best chances for recovery are for him to have a strong support system at home." The shrink adjusted his glasses. "Regardless of whatever treatment method we choose to pursue first, his condition will be improved exponentially just by _not_ living alone."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hajime asked suspiciously.

 _What angle is he working?_

"Because you're his friend, and the one most readily available. Besides, you're the one who brought him in, aren't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"So, take responsibility for what you've started and see it through."

"What about his family? Couldn't they do that?"

"They appear to be estranged, save one distant relative."

"Did he tell you that?"

"I could tell just by looking at his records." The psychologist looked so smug in that moment that Hajime had to resist the urge to punch him. "But that's beside the point. As a doctor, it's my professional opinion that he would benefit greatly from temporarily moving in with you and your brother, at least until the danger has passed and he's successfully managed his conditions with some consistency for a period of time. You see, Sugoroku," he said seriously. "The one thing that I _am_ required to tell you about his condition, whether he wants me to or not, is that he's at risk for suicide."

 _Damn it. Number Fifteen was right._

"That being the case," he continued. "I'm sure you'll understand why I strongly encourage you to take him in. It's your decision."

Hajime stood in silence for a while, watching Seitarou sleep as he processed all of this.

"You said that he has PTSD?"

"Indeed I did."

"That only develops _in response_ to something, right?"

"Typically in response to some sort of traumatic event, although the onset of PTSD can be delayed by months, even years, after the event."

Good. That meant that Seitarou hadn't _necessarily_ gotten hurt on his watch. Hajime felt a vague sense of guilt for not noticing sooner, for not realizing that he'd been working from a mental deficit, but then he reminded himself that he _had_ noticed, called him out on it, and given him ample opportunity to explain himself. Hajime hadn't done anything wrong, but he still felt like he should have done more.

Well, no use pondering the past now. It was what it was, so now he just needed to focus on moving forward.

"Thank you for telling me. I'll return later to speak with him about it." Hajime turned to leave, then hesitated. "How severe is his risk for suicide?"

"Relatively mild, but it's still there. In favorable conditions, we could probably eliminate that risk within a couple weeks once we start treatment."

 _Favorable conditions..._

* * *

 _"I just feel so empty sometimes, so useless. Like I've just become... nothing."_

 _"If I can't even help myself, then who can I help?"_

 _"When he touched me, I just froze. I couldn't make myself move, and I don't know why. Now I'm just afraid that I'll react that way every time someone does that to me. I'm afraid... that I'm just going to get hurt again and again, an I won't know how to stop it."_

 _"I can't go home. My mom has a new family now. She doesn't need me around to remind her of her past mistakes."_

Seitarou hugged his legs more tightly, bringing his knees closer to rest his chin on them as he mused over the things he'd said in therapy early that day. They'd had a ninety-minute session, and it had been cathartic, though draining. He closed his eyes as he focused on the feeling of the hairbrush being dragged through his thick blue locks. It was comforting, and he appreciated that Hitoshi never pressured him to talk. It was quite nice, actually, to sit with him after dinner and listen to the other's idle chatter as they watched _Love Live!_ It was a favorite anime of both Hitoshi and Nico, and Seitarou found that it's upbeat music and colorful animation composed a pleasing white noise that soothed his mind.

He'd only been living with the Sugoroku brothers for a few days now, and he was still trying to find a new pattern for his life. Hitoshi was warm and pleasant to be around, and Seitarou found himself at ease in the cross-dresser's company. Hitoshi had expressed a fondness for Seitarou's hair, and when the guard confessed that he'd always felt calmer when his hair was being brushed, Hitoshi had lit up. Now, he seized every idle moment they shared for the purpose of brushing light blue hair and Seitarou honestly couldn't complain.

Hajime was a different story.

Seitarou had become more awkward around him than ever before, sometimes floating along in embarrassed silence, sometimes so flustered he tripped over his words. He didn't seem to know how to act around him anymore. Even though he knew he shouldn't, he was still trying to hide his anxiety attacks, still trying to suppress his panics. He was still hiding, and it was only a matter of time before he broke down (again) in front of both of them.

Until that time came, though, he'd enjoy what peaceful moments he could steal for himself.

"That's the necklace that inmate made for you, isn't it?"

Seitarou hadn't even noticed that he'd started fidgeting with the wooden star pendant strung on a cord around his neck.

"Ah, yes." Seitarou smiled a little as he traced over the "lucky" 13 etched onto one side of it, and the 25 on the back. "Nico made it for me while I was on leave."

"That was nice of him." Hitoshi portioned off a tiny section of Seitarou's hair in the back and started braiding it into a tight little rope not even half as thick as his pinky.

The front door opened, signaling the entrance of the master of the house.

"Hi big brother! How was work today?"

"Exhausting, per usual. Hi, Seitarou." Hajime sounded like it was normal to have his lieutenant living with him, and as Seitarou lifted a hand and waved his welcome, he had to appreciate the sense of normalcy with which Hajime approached all of this. It made the transition easier.

Hajime slipped off his shoes, went to his room to change into casual clothes, then returned and approached the couch, newspaper in hand. He sat beside his brother, who was curled up on the cushion with Seitarou kneeling on the floor in front of him.

The elder struck up a meaningless conversation with the younger, the small talk continuing until Hitoshi finished the braid and hopped off the couch to make tea for his brother.

"You know, you don't have to watch his shows if you don't want to." Hajime didn't even look up from his newspaper. When he didn't get a response, though, he did look down moments before Seitarou tipped to the side and leaned his head against Hajime's knee. The Building Thirteen supervisor sighed and reached out a hand to pat him on the head. "You're gonna be okay, kid," he sighed, tone surprisingly paternal.

The patting turned to petting, and it didn't stop until Hitoshi brought him his tea.

Seitarou was half asleep, floating in and out of darkness as the hours and episodes passed and Hajime pet him intermittently. If he were more alert right now, he would have purred his approval, but he was so emotionally drained that his physical energy had been sapped as well.

"Time for bed, Hitoshi."

"It's too early," Hitoshi whined as he tied off another tiny braid in Seitarou's hair.

"But you have an early shift tomorrow," Hajime pointed out as he folded the newspaper and dropped it onto the coffee table. "In fact, we should _all_ be getting to bed." He tousled Seitarou's hair, prompting the younger guard to sit up and rub his eyes. They all stood and parted ways, after a brief disagreement between siblings, each going to their own respective bedrooms.

Seitarou changed into comfortable sleepwear and tied back his hair in a loose braid, secure enough to hold together for the night, but loose enough to not be kinky in the morning. That done, he turned the light off and opened the door just a crack before slipping in between the sheets of the twin-sized bed.

Seitarou's childhood fear of the dark had been revived by the first incident, much to his shame. In his own apartment, he'd long ago stuck plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars all over the ceiling and at the tops of the walls, so it hadn't been a problem for him there. He pulled the top of the blanket up under his chin and tried to settle his mind for sleep.

 _I'm safe here. Hajime won't let anyone hurt me._

Had he ever had that kind of faith in anyone before? Even when he was a child, he'd never felt completely safe and secure. It had just been him and his mother, with those sad, tired eyes afixed in a remorseful expression every time she looked at her young son.

 _This isn't helping_ , he thought bitterly as he rolled onto his stomach, his braid hanging over the side of the bed. He avoided all thoughts of childhood and youth as best as he could, trapped behind a strong dam, but now that it had been penetrated, the suppressed memories started to flood his mind. He didn't try to stifle them like he used to. Rather, he let everything wash over him, like the psychologist had told him to do.

Seitarou remembered the first time he was aware of how hard life was for his mother: single, unsupported, working two part-time jobs just to stay afloat. His older cousin had babysat him so much that he'd considered her an older sister. Meanwhile, his too-young mother was weary and unhappy, always looking at him with those sad eyes.

 _"Why don't you smile, Mom?"_

How old had he been? Eight? Nine?

 _"Because I'm tired, Seitarou. Now please, go play your games somewhere else and let me sleep." She closed her eyes as she curled up more tightly on the couch._

 _"Why are you tired?"_

 _"Because I was at work."_

 _"I don't make you tired, do I, Mom?"_

 _"Of course not, honey."_

She had lied.

That was only natural for a parent, though, wasn't it?

When he was in junior high, his mother had finally found a man who could make her smile, and while Seitarou didn't get along with that man, he hadn't made a fuss for attention.

Probably because that was around the same time Seitarou wised up to the fact that his very existence was a mistake. He did the math and figured out that his mother had been barely sixteen when he was born.

His mother had eventually married, the wedding itself a lovely event though he couldn't remember being happy at it. He'd gotten younger siblings— _half_ -siblings, he was reminded too often. He helped with the little ones as best he could, hoping to compensate for the trouble he'd caused her in the past.

In high school, he'd striven hard to get good grades, to do his absolute best so he could earn a college scholarship and not cost them a dime.

Then his anxiety, lying dormant in him since birth, had awakened, and he'd struggled so much that he'd actually spoken up.

 _"Why doesn't he cut his hair? It looks too feminine like that. Maybe he wouldn't be so anxious if he weren't getting picked on for looking like a girl."_

 _Seitarou's hand went to his hair as he eavesdropped on their conversation, crouched outside their bedroom door._

 _"Just a few sessions, dear. Please? What could it hurt? He'll be leaving home in less than a year, the least we can do is help him out until then."_

He hadn't talked to her in what, one year? Two? Closer to two, probably. Once he came to Nanba, it had been hard to keep up the lies about where he was and what he was doing with himself, so he'd given up trying. Not that she'd seemed to care anyways.

 _Besides, every time she looks at_ me _, I'm sure she sees_ him _._

 _Him_ being whichever wretched man had knocked up her fifteen-year-old self and walked out on her.

Seitarou buried his face in his pillow, tears dripping from his eyelashes as he let the emotions flow through him and run their course. He fell asleep crying, but that wasn't unusual these days.

Hitoshi had listened to Seitarou's quiet tears while standing outside the doorway, then crept away to his own bedroom, heart a little heavy.


	4. Distance

"Help!"

The panicked outcry shocked Hajime out of a deep sleep. He jerked up out of bed and seized the baseball bat beside his bed, the one with rusty nails half-embedded in the length of it, charging out into the living area with both hands gripping it tightly. Nobody was in sight. Another shout came from Seitarou's room, and he charged in, calling his lieutenant's name. The young man was thrashing in bed, but he was alone. With a sigh, Hajime tossed the bat into the corner and approached the bed.

"Seitarou, wake up!" Hajime reached out and grabbed Seitarou's forearms to stop him from hitting his wrist repeatedly against the bed frame as he attempted to fight it. "Wake up!"

Seitarou's eyes flew open with a gasp, already wet with tears as he blinked and squeezed his eyes shut again. He shook his head as if in denial and continued to struggle.

"No, no!" Seitarou screamed between gasps, writhing on the bed away from Hajime, who never loosened his grip. "Make it stop! Make it _stop_!"

"Nobody's trying to hurt you." Hajime was still shouting just to be heard. He wracked his brain trying to remember what the psychologist had told him he should do in this situation.

 _Make him comfortable._

Well fuck. He was already screwing that up. He released Seitarou's wrists and knelt on the bed beside him, wrapping his arms around the leaner man's shoulders and hugging him to his chest. Seitarou was still crying, struggling to breathe as he voiced his protests.

"Stop! Make it stop! It hurts… It hurts, make him stop…" His voice sank into a quivering whisper, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the room.

 _Make sure he's breathing properly._

Hajime removed one arm from his shoulders and took a gentler hold of Seitarou's left wrist, measuring his pulse as he spoke low reminders of reality.

"You're safe, Seitarou. Breathe. No one is trying to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. Just breathe. You're safe here. You're safe. Take a deep breath. You're okay."

Seitarou was shaking now as he had been five days ago, his breathing nothing short of hysterical as his tears wet Hajime's chest. He'd stopped struggling, so Hajime loosened his hold to rub Seitarou's back. That was a soothing gesture, right?

"Please… hold me…"

His words were barely audible, but they were enough. Hajime clamped his arms around Seitarou's shoulders and upper arms once more.

"I-I can still feel his hands on me," the young guard whispered, much to Hajime's dismay. "I just want it to stop…" Seitarou's eyes were closed, his face hidden against the toned planes of Hajime's chest. Concerned, Hajime shifted one hand to press a finger to the side of his neck for a moment, relieved to feel that his pulse had gone down. He seemed to be breathing better, too, but that was about to change.

"He _who_?"

Hajime didn't need to look up to know that Hitoshi was standing in the doorway in his pajama pants and t-shirt, his sleeping mask sitting atop his forehead, the elastic straps crinkling his short hair—because it _was_ short, the long locks he sported during the day were only a wig, hence his fascination with Seitarou's hair.

"Not now, Hitoshi," Hajime growled, but his little brother ignored him, instead entering and perching on the edge of the bed. He lay a hand on Seitarou's shoulder as magenta eyes blinked away tears.

"Who touched you, Sei-chan?" Hitoshi asked coolly, a fierce glint in his eye, expressly ignoring his brother.

"This isn't the time," Hajime hissed. "You're going to make him panic again, and I only just got him to calm down."

"I'm sorry…" The guilt-ridden words slipping out of Seitarou's lips before he could stop himself.

"Don't apologize," Hajime snapped, attention returning to his lieutenant. "You've done nothing wrong." He blinked, the air perfectly still between them. Then he repeated, because he felt like it needed to be said, "You've done _nothing_ wrong."

Seitarou's eyes filled with tears again, and as he started to weep, Hitoshi murmured, "Hold on." He hopped off the bed and left the room, leaving the two alone together. Hajime shifted his legs so he was no longer kneeling, stretching them out on either side of Seitarou so he was more comfortable. Hajime hugged him more tightly, pulling him closer as he leaned his head back against the wall, anticipating a long night.

"This should help," Hitoshi murmured as he returned, holding up a hair brush. He seated himself behind Seitarou and started dutifully unbraiding his hair. He gently raked the boar bristle brush through the wiry blue strands, and the soothing effect was almost immediate.

Hajime and Hitoshi stayed with him for an hour or two, wary of leaving him alone while he was this distraught. Neither of them left until Seitarou had fallen asleep again, arms around his supervisor and head resting on his shoulder.

* * *

"Hey, wake up." Hajime nudged Seitarou awake as the train came to a full halt. "It's our stop."

Seitarou rubbed his eyes and sat up straight, lifting his head from Hajime's shoulder and nodding in acknowledgement. He was still profoundly embarrassed about last night, but when he'd tried to apologize again that morning, Hajime had shut him down again.

 _"You have nothing to apologize for. You can't control when that happens, so you're not to blame for anything."_

Seitarou was learning to accept this, though he was reluctant to let it alleviate his sense of guilt. It didn't feel right to not feel guilty. Was that strange? Probably. He made a mental note to bring it up in therapy at his next session the day after tomorrow—he was doing poorly enough to necessitate biweekly sessions for the time being.

He adjusted his hat as he followed Hajime off the train and into their building.

"The building is still here, so I guess that's a good sign, considering we left Yamato in charge last night," Hajime intoned with his usual morning grouch.

"I suppose so." Seitarou tried to appreciate the humor in that sentence, but he honestly couldn't. This was his first day back at work in two weeks, and his stomach was so twisted up he was sure he'd feel nauseous right now if Hitoshi hadn't forced him to eat that morning.

"I need you to do morning rounds," Hajime remarked as they neared the guard's office. "Make sure Yamato didn't let any of the troublemakers slip through his fingers."

"Yes, sir." Seitarou slightly swung the giftbox he'd been carrying this whole time with his fingers hooked under the string of the ribbon tied around it. It was just as well that he did morning rounds; he had a promise to fulfill.

The inmates in cells one through twelve were all present and accounted for without incident.

Cell thirteen.

"Good morning!" he called out as he stood before the door, his cheerful voice belying his true emotional state. "It's time for roll-call! Number Eleven?"

A muffled groan came from a pink and blonde pile of hair.

"Number Sixty-Nine?"

"Wha-?" Rock blinked at him quite sleepily. "Seitarou, is that you?"

"Number Fifteen?" He had to ignore Rock's _real_ question; he didn't trust himself to answer it properly.

"Yeah, I'm here," Jyugo answered from the corner of the room, his expression inscrutable as ever.

"Number Twenty-Five?"

Rock had already shaken Nico awake, and he'd been too stunned with happiness to speak until now.

"You're back! You're back!" the sixteen-year-old exclaimed, hopping out of bed and leaping to the door, standing quite close to it as his red eyes lit up. "Hajime wouldn't tell us when you were coming back! How are you? Where have you been? Was something wrong? Did you get sick?"

Nico immediately bombarded Seitarou with rapidfire questions, asking everything that came to mind. Seitarou smiled, genuinely pleased by the teen's enthusiasm. He only stopped speaking when the young guard held up the boxed present, and Nico gasped, interrupting himself mid-sentence.

"Is that what I think it is?!" He was practically bouncing on his feet as he eyed the package greedily. Seitarou just chuckled, not trusting himself with words, and opened the cell door.

"Here you go, as promised!" He smiled and held out the package to Nico, but before he took it, he did something Seitarou hadn't expected: the teen threw himself at Seitarou and squeezed him in a momentary hug before snatching the package and plopping on the floor to open it.

"A Korosensei plushie!" he exclaimed gleefully, squishing the clothed yellow octopus in his arms. "So cool so cool so cool so cool so cool!"

To see such an innocent expression of simple, unabashed joy lifted Seitarou's spirits.

 _I can do this._

 _I'm going to be okay._

 _Just take life one moment at a time._

"Remember to thank him, Nico," Rock remarked, looking amused.

"Thank you, Seitarou!" Nico chimed instantly.

"And thank you for _your_ present." Seitarou smiled honestly, unconsciously making that sweet expression that had literally caused some women to swoon in the past. "I'll return in an hour to take you to Dr. Otogi for your daily dose."

"Okay. See you later!" Nico waved at him so enthusiastically that Seitarou couldn't help but wave back.

Today would be a good day. He'd make sure of it.


	5. Not Strong Enough

By the end of the day, Seitarou had gone from telling himself that today would be a good day to reminding himself that at least he'd be alive at the end of it and that was something to be grateful for.

Deflecting Nico's questions—and everyone else's for that matter—was more challenging than it should have been. He wasn't used to spreading complex lies and needing to keep track of them. It was exhausting. Through it all, he almost didn't notice Hajime's attentive eyes on him, the way he never approached Seitarou from behind, the way he never let Yamato surprise him, the way he asked if Seitarou was doing alright when the lieutenant collapsed in his desk chair and set his head on his desk, wrapping his arms around his head.

"No." Seitarou barely whispered his answer, keeping his head down. "But I can—"

"Go home. You're only hurting yourself if you keep working like this." His tone was brusque, but his words were kind. Seitaro sat up and met his gaze.

"I don't need special treatment," he insisted, not wanting to be singled out, not wanting to be perceived as weak.

"Right now, you do. If you won't go home voluntarily, then I'll order you home."

It was difficult to argue with Hajime when he'd clearly made up his mind.

"Yes, supervisor." Seitarou conceded the argument, mostly because he didn't have the energy to argue. As he rode the light-rail towards the exit of the prison, he made himself consciously appreciate the fact that Hajime was looking out for him, even if he didn't like the fact that he needed looking after.

Yes, Hajime was a good man, and probably the best friend Seitarou had right now.

* * *

"The good news is that he's no longer a suicide risk," the psychologist said with a smile as he sat down across from Hajime in his office for a briefing on Seitarou's psychological state—though it felt more like a parent-teacher conference to the young guard.

"And the bad news?" There was always bad news.

"He still has a long way to go. He's opted to stick with therapy for now, but if he ever decides to give medication a chance, I'll need to speak with both of you together." The psychologist pushed his glasses further up his nose. "For now, I want you to keep doing what you're doing, and let me know if you encounter any difficulties. He still shouldn't be left home alone, so do be careful about that. Do you have any questions?"

"What actually happened to him that caused this?"

"I'm not at liberty to tell."

Hajime glared at him.

"Truly, I'm not. Doctor-patient confidentiality. Besides, the only reason he even told me was because I promised him my discretion."

"Someone hurt him." That much he knew to be true from the cries that had slipped from Seitarou's lips when he was waking up from a nightmare. "If you know who, you need to tell me so that I can do my job and put the man behind bars."

"If I knew that kind of information, don't you think I would have acted on it?"

"You're avoiding the issue!"

"Look, I've asked him about it, and he's simply not ready to share that information with anyone yet. It always triggers an anxiety attack. If you want him to tell you, the best you can do is to calmly let him know that whenever he's ready to talk, you'll be ready to listen, then give him the time and space he needs. Let _me_ handle the—"

He was interrupted by the sound of his cell phone ringing. With a frown, he picked it up and looked at the screen.

"Excuse me, I'll have to take this, it's an emergency call." He stood and left the room briskly, Hajime sighing with annoyance.

He hated not being fully informed about the situation. He needed to know what was going on, and Seitarou's file was sitting right there on the desk. Hajime stood and reached across the desk, carefully opening the manila folder and shifting through the papers as he listened carefully to the phone call on the other side of the door. He glanced at the papers briefly absorbing the information as he read them upside down. Then he found a piece of loose-leaf paper that made him pause. There was more written on it, but the only words that caught his eye were in the center of the page, in Seitarou's small print: _"I was raped."_

Before he could get caught, Hajime quickly piled the papers together properly again and sat down.

At least he had confirmation now.

At least he knew what kind of trauma Seitarou was dealing with.

Now he knew for sure that he'd have to bash someone's head in before all of this was over.

* * *

"Here you are, supervisor." As Seitarou set down his superior's cup of tea and digestive medications on his desk, he managed a fairly pleasant smile—managing to make it look sincere.

"Thanks."

Seitarou nodded and returned to his desk to continue reviewing the footage from the security cameras. How _did_ inmate Number Ninety-Nine manage to pose in front of even the hidden ones? It was anyone's guess, really, but he made a note to keep tabs on that skill in case it turned into a fascinating and unbelievable ability that somehow aided him in escaping prison.

"Seitarou."

"Yes, supervisor?" The blue-haired guard glanced up from his security screen, though Hajime's eyes remained fixed on his paperwork.

"Whatever it is that happened to you, I hope you know that you can tell me about it."

"Huh?" _Why is he bringing this up now? I'd almost managed to go a whole hour without thinking about it..._

"Look, I know someone hurt you." Hajime's voice had dropped considerably in volume. "When the day comes that you feel comfortable talking about it, I hope you'll tell me who did it." The phrase "so I can seek my own vengeance" floated unspoken in the air between them.

"I hope so too," was all Seitarou could say back.

* * *

Seitarou had been living with Hajime and Hitoshi for almost two months now, and he could feel that he was improving. No, he wasn't fully recovered, but he was managing his conditions to a noticeable degree. He'd been keeping count on a calendar each panic attack, each anxiety attack, each nightmare, each day of utter apathy, each angry outburst. He kept it color coded so that only he understood what those colored numbers meant, since he was still rather sensitive about it all. Comparing the weekly totals for each item over the past seven weeks was a way to prove to himself that he was at least starting to improve, even if it didn't feel like it some days.

Numbers didn't lie, after all. People could use numbers to lie, but the numbers themselves couldn't.

"Seitarou."

"Yes, supervisor?" He closed his small calendar book and looked up.

"I need you to go to Headquarters and get a file from the archive for me."

"Of course, sir. What do you need?"

"I need all of the information connected to inmate six-ten."

"Yes, sir, right away."

Seitarou made the indirect journey from building thirteen to the Nanba Prison HQ, the building that held the Warden's office, among other things. The archive of physical files kept securely in the basement was reserved for the most sensitive information, and the security system protecting it was just as thorough as the one surrounding the Warden's office.

The information was so sensitive that there weren't even cameras inside the room.

Usually, this crypt of secrets was devoid of human life, so when Seitarou entered it and saw Kiji Mitsuba standing directly in front of him, it was quite a shock to his system.

"Hello there," the drag queen crooned, Seitarou's feet frozen to the spot where he stood. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?" He stepped closer and touched the guard's cheek. He flinched, but it didn't deter the supervisor. "Hm, is it just my imagination, or have you become more lovely than before?" His misleading smile turned to a disdainful frown. "That pisses me off." He grabbed the front of Seitarou's shirt, spinning him around and pinning him against the wall too quickly for Seitarou to react.

 _No, no, no..._

A hand was fumbling at his belt buckle.

 _Stopstopstopstop—_

Seitarou stopped breathing as his pants and underwear were tugged down until they dropped to his ankles.

 _I can't breathe. Oh crap, I can't breathe._

A pair of hands pushed heavily on his shoulders, forcing him down to his knees.

 _No!_ Seitarou screamed on the inside. _Move! Do something! Make him stop!_

But it was just like the first time. His limbs turned to lead and his lungs felt like they were being crushed by the choke-hold of a frosty hand reaching right into his chest.

Seitarou opened his mouth, wanting to cry out, to tell him off, but no sound came out.

There it was again, the feeling of an empty chasm opening up inside of him as all of his protests died on his lips. He couldn't even say no like he had last time.

How pathetic was that?

How pathetic was _he_?

"Just do me a little favor, love." Kiji's perfume wafted over him afresh, and the feeling of nausea intensified. "If you think you're gonna scream, just bite down on this."

Seitarou squeaked as his own boxers, wadded into a ball, were shoved into his mouth. It was now that Seitarou squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for whatever came next.

 _You don't have to do this! You don't have to put up with this anymore! You know that you can ask for help, now. Hajime knows. Hajime understands..._

 _I don't know how to stop him, though..._

 _You're stronger than this!_

 _No I'm not. I'm weak. If I were strong, I would stop him._

 _That's not how that works._

Seitarou felt hands grab his hips, and he bit down hard as he started to _turn_ _off_ , just like last time.

This wasn't happening. He was somewhere else, anywhere else. Anywhere but right here, right now, with him.

Seitarou blacked out, and before he knew it, he was alone again, a mess between his thighs and a pain in his ass. Were those bruises on his hips? Probably. His soul felt numb, like it couldn't be bothered to feel anything right now.

He hadn't even started to feel ashamed yet, just disappointed in himself.

Seitarou stared through the blackness up at the ceiling, his body still feeling heavy, like he couldn't move it.

He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to.

He didn't know for how long he lay there in silence before he decided that he needed to get back to work. He twitched one finger, then one hand, then used his arms to stiffly push himself off the floor.

Then he was walking down the hallway with the requested files in a secure folder, pretending that he was fine, but knowing deep down that he was now more screwed up than before. He couldn't remember cleaning up, but he must have done it.

He managed to fake his way through his duties for an hour before Hajime noticed something was off.

Seitarou wasn't smiling or speaking at all, only making minimal movements, and even they were slow.

"Lieutenant, are you feeling well?" Hajime finally asked, scrutinizing the other's expression.

"I feel fine."

 _He's definitely not fine_. Hajime recognized that tone of voice: it was the cold one, the distant one. He only used that voice on a bad day when he was trying to push everyone away.

"Go home, Seitarou."

"I'm fine—"

"You're not."

Seitarou bowed his head, eyes hidden by his bangs. Hajime, with the intention of offering him a pat on the shoulder, reached out one hand in Seitarou's direction. In the same instant that the guard flinched away, he brought up a hand to knock away Hajime's arm. He mumbled something apologetic and left the room before Hajime even knew what to say.

* * *

When Hajime came home that evening, his younger brother was fretting worse than ever before.

"Hajime-chan~" he whined dashing up to his older brother as he removed his shoes and his tie at the front door. "You need to do something! He's been in there for an hour, and I can't get him to come out."

Hajime rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door and called out, "Seitarou, everything alright in there?" He waited and listened for an answer but didn't receive one. "What the hell could he be doing?"

"I heard him crying earlier." Hitoshi seemed reluctant to share that, but Hajime was glad that he did.

"I'm coming in," Hajime called preparing to kick the door in.

"No you're not!" Hitoshi leapt into the space between his brother and the door. "I don't know why you insist on doing everything the hard way! We have a key for this door, you know! Besides," he continued more calmly as he stood on his toes and reached up to remove the key from the top of the doorframe. "If either of us is going in there, it'll be me, not you. You may be a cuddly gorilla, but a gentle one you are not."

Flustered, Hajime simply huffed and crossed his arms, watching with annoyance as Hitoshi unlocked the door and called, "I'm coming in now, okay?" Then he turned the knob and slipped inside, closing the door behind him. The lack of any steam in the room told Hitoshi that the shower was running cold now.

"Sei-chan, are you okay in there?" he asked cautiously, his voice laced with concern. He waited for words, but nothing came. "Sei-chan, if you don't answer me, I'm going to have to open the curtain. Are you okay with that?" He didn't hear anything at first, then his ears were greeted with the small croak of a voice that hadn't been used recently.

"I... need help."

The words were faint, but Hitoshi was just relieved to hear his voice.

"I'm going to turn the water off now, okay?"

"... Okay."

Hitoshi reached into the crack between the wall and the edge of the curtain and turned the faucet all the way to off.

"I'm going to hand you a towel now, okay?"

A pause.

"I... need help standing up."

"Are you okay with me opening the curtain to help you?"

"... Yes." His voice was so small, so sad, Hitoshi felt his heart break a little to hear it. He carefully opened the curtain to reveal the young guard curled up on the floor of the shower in a soaking wet ball of blue.

"I'm going to touch your hair now. Is that okay?"

Seitarou nodded, not even turning to look in his direction. Hitoshi carefully gathered up Seitarou's locks into one hand, then proceeded to squeeze the excess water from each section of its length before bundling it up into a loose bun that would keep it out of the way.

"I'm going to get you a towel now, okay?"

Another nod.

Hitoshi unfolded a fresh towel and held it in two places along the long edge. "Grab my hands and I'll help you stand, okay?" he said, offering them down to the guard. Seitarou's movements were slow and shaky, his hands shivering from sitting in the cold water for so long. His knees shook too as he trusted some of his weight to Hitoshi and pulled himself to his feet. He didn't look quite stable, but he stayed upright, so that counted for something. He dropped his hands from Hitoshi's, head bowed as his bangs covered his eyes, and let Hitoshi dry off his shoulders, arms, and chest before he pressed the towel against him.

"There you go, Sei-chan. I'll let you do the rest. I'll go fetch you some clothes, and then when you're dressed, I'll brush your hair. Does that sound good to you?"

A slight nod was the only answer he received. Hitoshi nodded back with a hopeful smile.

"You're going to be okay, Sei-chan," he murmured, pressing a hand to the other's cheek for a moment, looking into his dark pink eyes as he tried to fathom the sadness they held.

* * *

The three of them were sitting in the living room as usual, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Hajime was reading the newspaper, Hitoshi was watching _Love Live!_ , and Seitarou, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, was letting him brush and towel-dry his hair. He hadn't said a word to either of them since the few he'd spoken in the bathroom to Hitoshi. He couldn't pay attention to the TV right now, although he wished he could just for the sake of distraction.

It was time for him to say something.

He had to.

Hajime wouldn't blame him for what had happened, so he knew he didn't need to fear _that_.

He feared that he wouldn't be believed.

He feared being called a liar.

He feared that he wouldn't be able to prove his story.

All he had to do was force the words out.

He could only say it once, if it all. He wouldn't be able to bring himself to repeat his account of the facts.

He needed to know that he would be heard, so Seitarou reached up to grab the remote off the coffee table and turn the TV off.

"Seitarou? Is something wrong?" Hajime asked as he looked up from his newspaper. Hitoshi was still focused on Seitarou's hair.

 _Just hear me out, Hajime_ , Seitarou prayed to the powers that be. _Please. You don't have to believe me, but don't call me a liar. Not to my face._

"Supervisor Mitsuba." His voice was quiet but clear, enough to be heard.

"Hm?" Hitoshi paused in his brushing as Hajime's eyes narrowed.

"It was late February. I was in the night watch room. He'd been drinking. I told him no, but he didn't stop." Seitarou's voice was cold, his face expressionless, his eyes fixed on the floor as he focused all his energy on forcing the truth out between his teeth. "The second time was in March, when I had to deliver some papers to him directly." He swallowed hard, really not wanting to go into anymore detail about that one. "And..." His voice broke so he stopped, biting his bottom lip as he exerted his will to maintain a forced sense of calm.

"And what?" Hajime asked finally, his rage simmering just beneath the surface.

"The third time was... about four hours ago."

Hajime started to swear under his breath at the same time that Hitoshi's eyes grew to the size of saucers, watering with sympathetic tears.

"You should have told me as soon as it happened." Hajime's growl was fierce, and Seitarou shrank in on himself, bowing his head to avoid anyone's gaze.

"Don't yell at him!" Hitoshi protested on his friend's behalf, Hajime standing up as he cast the newspaper aside and began cracking his knuckles.

"I'm going to tear that foul pheasant limb from limb," he snarled, his rationality overcome by bloodlust. "I'm going to shove a ten-foot pole so far up his ass that it comes out on the other side, then roast him over an open fire like the animal he is."

"Big Brother, no!" Hitoshi protested, grabbing his brother's arm. "You'll get in trouble for that!"

"He deserves it." Hajime started walking towards the front door, dragging his little brother along with him.

"Sei-chan, tell him to stop!" Hitoshi cried, entreating their friend in a desperate attempt to prevent the carnage that would surely be wrought at Hajime's hands if he wasn't stopped.

Cold, heartless laughter cooled Hajime's temper just as he was reaching for the door.

"What I say doesn't matter," Seitarou murmured and laughed mirthlessly. "I don't care what you do to him. I just want to stop feeling so damn _afraid_ all of the time." He pressed the heel of his hand to one eye, still staring down, away from them. "I want to stop feeling so damn _empty_..." His voice finally broke as he slumped forward onto the floor, a choked sob tearing from his throat.

Both brothers had frozen in place, half-turned so they could watch him break.

"Go take care of him, Hitoshi." Hajime had never had any qualms about giving his little brother direct orders. "I'll be back later."

"What are you going to—"

"I'll be back later," Hajime repeated, then charged out the door without giving Hitoshi a chance to stop him.

"Oh, bother." Hitoshi only let himself worry over his brother for a moment before he turned back to his friend. Hitoshi's feet began to move before he even knew what he was doing. He snatched a spare blanket and a box of tissues from the linen closet before draping the former over Seitarou and setting the latter on the floor as he knelt beside him. Hitoshi rubbed his back, passed him tissues, brushed his hair, and murmured reassurances as he cried his fill, then lay on the floor in fatigued despair.

"Do you want me to help you to your bed?" Hitoshi asked hesitantly as the evening waned closer to midnight.

"I can't move," Seitarou whispered back, his eyes closed and his head now resting on a throw pillow from the couch. "It still hurts..."

"Should I take you to the doctor, then?" Hitoshi had no experience with this, so he didn't know what was right for him to do at this point.

"I don't know." Seitarou sighed heavily and hid his face behind his arms. "I just know that I don't want to go anywhere right now."

"Then may I lay down with you?" If ever there was a time to stay by him, now was it.

"Yes."

Hitoshi changed his clothes and set aside his wig on its styrofoam head in his room, taking a blanket and a pillow with him as he returned to the living room. He tossed his pillow down on the floor and wrapped the blanket around himself before laying down facing Seitarou.

"Whatever happens tomorrow, know that you don't have to go through it alone," Hitoshi whispered, extending an empty hand, palm facing up. Seitarou looked at it blankly, then hesitantly reached out and placed his hand over top of Hitoshi's. The small blond offered him a smile and asked, "Do you want me to turn some of the lights off?"

"No, this is fine." Honestly, Seitarou just didn't want Hitoshi to leave him, however briefly.

So long as he wasn't alone, he was safe.

* * *

"Those are serious charges to levy against a fellow supervisor," the warden of Nanba Prison remarked from behind her desk. "Before I pursue this any further, let me ask you this: are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes, ma'am." Hajme's head was inclined slightly out of respect to his superior. "He can confirm much of the story, if the lieutenant gives him permission to share that information." Here he gestured to the prison's bewildered psychologist, who stood at his side without having heard Hajime's news until just now. Hajime had simply dragged from his office to the warden's without a detailed explanation. "He's been receiving treatment for over a month now, ma'am."

"I see." Momoko closed her eyes briefly and bowed her head slightly as she accepted these circumstances. "I shall have Supervisor Mitsuba taken into custody immediately and kept in isolation for now. The investigation will begin first thing tomorrow morning. I'd like to speak with you and the lieutenant tomorrow morning as well. I need to know the full story straight from the source. Until then, keep this information to yourselves. The last thing we need are rumors circulating."

"Yes, ma'am," they answered simultaneously.

"You're dismissed, doctor. We'll be in touch."

He nodded and left.

"Hajime. Where is Lieutenant Tanabata now?" the warden queried, her expression quite fearsome.

"At home, ma'am, with my brother."

"Very well. You may leave. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

* * *

By the time Hajime returned home, Hitoshi and Seitarou had both fallen asleep on the floor, their clasped hands resting between them. They both looked so peaceful, so precious, Hajime had to admit that it tugged at his heart a bit.

The sheer injustice of something so violative, so deplorable, so dishonoring being done to _his_ subordinate, _his_ lieutenant, _his_ friend had been enough to send him into a fit of bloodthirsty anger. He'd almost acted on it, too, but Seitarou had stopped him.

When the man who too-often acted as his conscience acted apathetically towards his bloodlust—that was the moment when it hit home for Hajime just how much Seitarou had been altered by his experiences. He'd seen him cry before, so that wasn't such a big deal. He'd seen him distracted, upset, fretful, afraid. But Hajime had never seen him so cold before, and that disturbed him in its own way.

"No use letting you two sleep on the floor," he mumbled to himself, bending down to scoop his brother int his arms first, easily carrying him to his own room, depositing him on the bed, and closing the door on him. Then he picked up Seitarou, but stopped as he stood in front of his guest's room. Wasn't he likely to have another panic attack tonight, given the events of the day? It wouldn't be good for him to be alone, whether he did or not, nevermind that he was asleep. He wasn't taking any chances, especially not after Warden Hyakushiki had expressed explicit interest in the lieutenant's wellbeing.

Hajime carried Seitarou to his own room, letting his willowy body have half the queen-sized bed he usually had to himself. This would allow him to react more promptly in the event of a night terror or panic attack, making this a practical decision more than anything else. It had nothing to do with the sweet face of a sleeping Seitarou or the way his slenderness made him look vulnerable or his vague sense of guilt for not making Seitarou tell him earlier what had _really_ happened.

And it most _certainly_ had nothing to do with the way his thin body felt so cold Hajime felt the need to hold the guard to his side and share his warmth, lest he freeze from sleeping alone.


	6. Nightmare

_Hands all over, grabbing at his clothes, pulling him under the waves, drowning him as his lungs burned for air. Seitarou tried to scream, tried to fight, tried to breathe, tried to free himself, but to no avail._

 _Help me!_

"Seitarou, get a hold of yourself!"

Eyes bright with tears snapped open, seeing only the darkness around him as he choked on nothing but his own fear.

"Let me go, I can't breathe!" he cried out, struggling against the weight hovering above him, pinning him down. He continued shouting as he tried to fight off his attacker, but the other man was too strong, holding down his arms and sitting on his knees so he couldn't kick either.

"Let me go! Let go, let go! Don't touch me! Don't touch! I can't…! I can't…"

Seitarou didn't even know what he was saying, all he knew was that he heard yelling, and after almost twenty minutes of intense panic and rapid hyperventilation, Seitarou finally began to calm a bit, which was for the best since Hajime was on the verge of calling someone for help.

As Seitarou began to crash from the panic high, he became aware of a low voice speaking softly above him.

"You're safe here, and no one's going to hurt you," Hajime was murmuring over the sound of Seitarou's heavy breathing. "I'm going to protect you from now on, so you don't have anyone to be afraid of. I'll tear off the hands of anyone who dares to touch you. I'll feed them their own fingers, I'll gouge out their eyes, I'll…"

"Hajime…" Seitarou breathed his name, touched by the things Hajime would do for him. After spending three years at Nanba, descriptions of such gore couldn't faze him anymore.

"Thank god." Hajime sighed with relief, his grip on his friend's forearms loosening. "I was starting to wonder if I needed to get you to a doctor. You scare me when you do that."

"Really?" Seitarou found it hard to believe that Hajime was afraid of anything other than the warden.

"Of course. Do you have any idea how it looks when you do that?"

"No, not at all."

Hajime sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Was I… saying things?" Seitarou asked hesitantly.

"You don't know?" Hajime's voice carried the incredulity his face couldn't convey in the darkness.

"No."

"You're always shouting when this happens." Hajime carefully rolled off of him. "Nothing specific, but…"

He shrugged in conclusion, a gesture that Seitarou felt through the faint contact of their shoulders as they lay side by side.

"Are you sure that it helps for me to hold you down like that?" Hajime sounded acutely uncomfortable, something that puzzled his subordinate.

After Seitarou's second panic attack at his house, Hajime actually asked him what helped his panic go away. Hajime was in the habit of pinning him down because his thrashing was bound to cause injury to himself or others, but when Seitarou was screaming, " _Don't touch me!_ " while he was barely breathing, it unnerved even Hajime.

"It _does_ help," Seitarou affirmed as his friend sat up beside him, taking his shaking hand and placing his fingers on the pulse. "I can't always… tell when I've woken up. It… makes things feel real."

"Must've been a bad one tonight." Hajime had seen enough of these by now to be familiar with the varying levels of severity with which they occurred, and he had no doubts that this was the worst one he'd seen yet.

Seitarou couldn't answer that. It had been the most vivid nightmare yet, and it still felt too real. He still felt like he was suspended in deep water, like it was flowing over his skin and down his throat, clogging his lungs—

"That was really brave of you," Hajime said suddenly, fingers still pressed to Seitarou's pulse. "To tell me his name." _Brave on_ his _scale, at least._

Seitarou swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath again as he focused on the feeling of his supervisor's hand on his arm.

"I don't want to be afraid of him anymore." He spoke slowly, forcing himself to breathe deeply. "I don't want to keep looking over my shoulder all the time."

"Where did it happen? Today, I mean."

"In the file room."

"Why didn't you tell me when it happened?" He couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice. "You could have called me over the radio, and I would've come."

"I… I-I don't know." Seitarou's pulse jumped, and he reached out towards Hajime with his free hand, finding Hajime's arm and gripping it tightly to ground himself. "I still can't really remember it… I don't want to." His voice hitched up into a higher pitch.

"I'm not asking you to," Hajime assured quickly, but Seitarou's words didn't stop.

"I remember how it started, and I remember waking up on the floor. I don't even remember what happened after that." His eyes were watering again as he began to whine. "I know that I got back to building thirteen, but I don't know how. I don't know if anyone saw me, I don't know if anyone saw _him_ , I don't know—"

"Breathe." Hajime's tone was commanding, compelling, the kind of voice that must be obeyed. Seitarou gulped in air as he blinked away his tears. "Again. Don't stop." One breath after another, Seitarou felt an odd sense of calm settle over him, Hajime coaching him through it.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore," Hajime assured as Seitarou's shaking seemed to ease. "He's behind bars now, and nobody's going to hurt you."

"He's… what?"

"I went to the warden and told her what had happened. She had Mitsuba incarcerated immediately."

"You told her?" he asked in shock. Seitarou felt betrayed. "Y-You… you actually _told_ her?!"

"It's about time she knew," Hajime answered calmly, confident in his decision. "She's the only one who could call for his detainment."

"You told her…" Seitarou murmured in despair, a sense of morbid embarrassment creeping over him.

"What did you think I was going to do?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd crucify him," Seitarou muttered sheepishly. Hajime laughed at that—a sound that surprised his lieutenant—and moved his hand from Seitarou's wrist to his hand, giving it a squeeze.

"I'm still tempted to do so, but we probably won't need to." Hajime had innate trust in the justice system, which Seitarou normally shared, but his anxiety made him uncertain in this case. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Mostly, I think." Seitarou wasn't even certain about his own state.

"Come on, then, let's get you patched up." Hajime slipped his hands under Seitarou's arms and placed them on Seitarou's shoulders, gently helping him sit up.

"What do you mean?"

"You were scratching in your sleep." Hajime stepped off the bed and pulled Seitarou with him. The guard took one step, and his knees buckled. Hajime caught him as he fell, hand over his mouth.

"I feel sick," Seitarou mumbled, eyes closed.

"When did you last eat?"

"Dunno…"

Hajime lifted Seitarou in his arms sweetheart-style, carrying him to the bathroom, where he set him down on the floor. He straightened up and flicked the lightswitch, Seitarou flinching at the sudden light. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw what Hajime had meant.

Dead skin and blood were crusting under his fingernails, bright red scoring his own arms, some lines reaching up to his shoulders, where—

"Ah!"

Hajime looked up to see Seitarou straining his neck to stare in horror at a large bitemark on his shoulder. If he didn't remember the act, then he wouldn't remember being bitten.

Hajime knelt beside him with the first aid kit. He tore open the paper-foil packet of the disinfectant wipe. He lifted Seitarou's arm by the wrist and pressed the wipe to the bitemark first, wiping down the length of his arm as the guard hissed at the sting of alcohol on broken skin. He wiped down the other arm too, then began to wrap them in bandages, making him look very much like Number Twenty-Five.

Hajime did all this with a stoic expression, focusing on each task at a time with all of his attention. When he finished taping the protective gauze in place, he removed a large bandaid from its sterile wrappings and sealed it in place over the bitemark. Yes, the skin had been broken there by the pheasant's teeth, but he covered it more to hide the markings than anything else. The way Seitarou stared at them had Hajime on edge.

Seitarou wasn't the kind of man to become angry about anything, but since he'd come to live with Hajime and Hitoshi, it had happened on more than one occasion that he burst out in sudden anger when he was especially distraught.

According to the psychologist, it was a symptom of the PTSD, and he prescribed patience—for now.

Right now, Seitarou had the same eyes he usually had preceding such an outburst, and if he could prevent it, he would.

"Can you stand?"

"Hm?" Seitarou as staring at the bandaid on his shoulder, pressing two fingers against the center of the padding.

"You need to eat something." Hajime maintained that calm, cool presence. "I can bring you food if you feel too ill to move yet."

"Ah, yes, thank you." He still looked absent-minded, but he didn't look like he was about to cry again, so that was something. Hajime nodded and left the bathroom. He wasn't much of a good cook, but he was competent enough to use the toaster and the microwave, so he was sure he'd be able to make something that would set Seitarou's stomach at ease.

Alone now in the bathroom, Seitarou moved his hand from his shoulder down to his elbow, tracing his arm's full length before doing the same to the other one.

It didn't feel real.

He knew conceptually that was looking down at himself, but it didn't feel like his body anymore. He placed his hands on his knees and squeezed, hoping to feel _something_ this way. He touched his face, but it just felt bloated and numb, like the effects of Novocaine.

Nothing.

He felt nothing.

Desperate now, Seitarou grabbed at his upper arms and squeezed over the spots where he'd scratched himself, squeezing harder until he felt pain.

"Is this even mine anymore?" he whispered, closing his eyes again as he shivered.

"Of course it is."

Seitarou started at the sound of Hajime's voice. Had he really been sitting here for this long? He felt a heated blush stain his cheeks as he opened his eyes and looked up at Hajime, who was stood in the doorway in his sweatpants, holding a pair of pop-tarts wrapped in a paper towel. Seitarou didn't move as Hajime stepped closer and knelt down beside him, still miraculously calm as his friend rode a rapid emotional roller-coaster. Hajime's eyes scrutinized his face, as if trying to find an answer there.

"My body... doesn't... feel like it's mine, anymore," Seitarou whispered hesitantly, eyes watering again.

"You'll feel better if you eat something." Hajime offered the pop-tarts to Seitarou, and after an unusually long pause, he reached out and accepted them. Hajime sat beside him, leaning against the edge of the tub as the young guard started nibbling on the toasted pastries. Once he started to eat them, he realized how hungry he was and began to take proper bites.

Hajime watched him with a satisfied, though tired, look.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep again tonight?"

Seitarou licked a smudge of chocolate off his lip and shrugged. "I don't know. I know I'm tired, but at the same time..." He trailed off with a sigh, then nibbled on his pop-tarts as he tried to put it into words, finally settling with the explanation, "My brain won't turn off."

"Do you want something to help you sleep, or would you rather just stay awake? We have to meet the warden in the morning anyways." Hajime removed a cigarette and lighter from the pocket of his sweatpants and lit up, taking a deep drag of the smoke before glancing back at Seitarou, who had yet to answer him. He just sat there stiff and rigid, not even his chest moving to indicate that he was indeed alive. Hajime plopped his hand on top of Seitarou's head and tousled his hair. "Hey kid, remember to breathe. It's kind of important, y'know." Seitarou inhaled deeply, and Hajime's tousling turned to petting. The young guard let himself tip over and land on his side on the floor, his head on Hajime's thigh as his ever-stoic supervisor continued stroking his long hair. His body curled in on itself, and he lifted the pop-tarts to his lips, finishing them off as Hajime smoked with his other hand.

"Tomorrow's going to be a long day, isn't it?"

"Probably." It didn't really matter what Hajime said at this point, because Seitarou was half asleep, he'd even closed his eyes.

"Then I should probably... get some more sleep."

Hajime finished his cigarette, discarded it, then rolled his friend onto his back so that he could lift him with more ease.

"Do you want me to take you back to your room?" Hajime sounded genuinely indifferent.

"No." Seitarou didn't even need to say that he was still afraid; Hajime just knew from previous experience that after a bad nightmare and attack like that, Seitarou didn't even want to _sleep_ alone.

If he was honest with himself, Hajime had to admit that he didn't mind having Seitarou in bed with him. He had enough space that they could be completely separate, or so that Seitarou could have room to thrash about without breaking anything or falling off the bed. Though the young guard's skin always felt cold to Hajime, that didn't stop his body from radiating heat and keeping the bed warm on chilly nights.

Besides all that, Seitarou was a cuddler. He required snuggles even as he slept, which was a tolerable habit for Hajime to indulge on occasion.

But it _was_ unusual for Hajime to look down at Seitarou's sleeping face, the lieutenant curled in against his broad chest as he slept, and find himself unable to look away.

"Sleep well, kid. Tomorrow's gonna be rough." Hajime buried his nose in blue hair for a moment, inhaling cool herbs and citrus as he let his eyes close, falling asleep almost immediately.


End file.
